Horsemen
by ChanceORiley27
Summary: Preludes to - So, Harv Walks Into a Bar. How John and Brian end up working for Harv.
1. Famine

_And I looked, and behold, a black horse, and the one seated on it had a balance scale," -__Revelations 6:5-6 (LEB/NIV)_

Blood dripped from between his fingers, dripping from the bullet hole in his side to mix with the rain and oil swirling on the pavement under his feet. John swallowed down another scream, every step pulling at the ragged edges of his wound, and threatening to steal the air from his lungs. One shoulder slammed into the brick wall of the alley way, his vision blurring at the edges. The cold fingers of desperation clutched at him, and his thoughts turned to his sisters as the slippery ends of consciousness threatened to desert him. He couldn't die. They needed him- needed the money he made to feed them, clothe them. He **couldn't** die. If he died they had no futures.

The sound of booted feet came from behind him and he tried to walk faster. He should never have taken that last job. He knew it was risky when he'd said yes, but Anne was never going to afford college without him and she deserved the future he'd never have.

The second he'd seen the target he knew Solvetti would never allow him to live. He was the one witness, the loose end that connected him to the diamond heist from Mr. Freeze. By then it was too late to back out. He'd have to do the job and hope like hell his luck held.

It hadn't…

He'd never even seen the man behind him until it was to late, and then it was only finely honed survival instinct that had allowed him to dodge the bullet meant for his heart. He sneered, well aware what they thought of him, the poor kike from the east end. It had saved his life they way they'd underestimated him; if there had been more than three of them he'd never had made it out the door. For once the Italian snobbery had worked in his favor.

He'd managed to kill one before escaping, but the remaining two were easily gaining on him. A lifetime of overindulgence may have left them fat and unable to run for long, but his injury had stripped him of his head start long ago. He was to far from the clinic and even if he wasn't, no one there would be able to protect him, let alone be willing to die for him.

John had worked for every family in the city and he knew none of them would stand between him and Solvetti. There was no safe harbor for him left in this hell hole he called home. He was to Jewish for the Italians and spent too much time with the Italians for the Irish. The mob kept him around only for the jobs they couldn't entrust to the average criminal idiot. He was expendable… a nobody… and everyone knew it.

There was only one option left to him, and it was such a bad idea he wasn't sure it should even count as a plan. John grimaced at what he was about to do, and turned the last corner to stare at the warehouse looming in the distance. He hesitated, knowing that if he entered that building he might never come out of it again. From somewhere behind him a trash can hit the street and a muffled Italian curse echoed off the walls of the tenements.

It didn't matter. If he stayed where he was he'd die all the same. He was in no condition to fight. The blood loss was already affecting his vision. Even if he could find the strength to raise his gun there was no guarantee he'd be able to find his target. His feet moved forward and he dug deep for a last burst of energy to stumble across the street to pound on the small door with one bloodied fist.

The seconds passed and he knew desperation was written across his face as he pounded on the door again. "I know you're in there," he shouted, his forehead thumping forward against the door as he hissed his last bit of defiance, "I **know**!"

There was soft rattling from behind the door, and then it cracked ever so slightly. "**How** do you know," a gravelly voice demanded.

"I know _everything_," John promised and then pleaded with the other man. "There's no one better than me." He lifted his face, and desperation gave way to anger. Anger at his city, anger at the men who had reduced him to begging for his life like a worthless dog, "let me in and I **swear** I'll help you bring this city to its knees."

"And you'll do all this if I save you life," the voice behind the door scoffed, not impressed.

"No, I'll do it for revenge," he swore vehemently, his eyes hardening, "Because I will **never **be a flunkie again."

The voice behind the door considered the offer and John held his breath as he heard the soft flip of metal spinning through the air. A moment later the door swung open just enough for him to squeeze inside, and John lurched forward into the warehouse. The gravelly voice offered only a noncommittal, "We'll see," before shutting them both inside.

John stumbled once, twice, and then fell, landing on the concrete floor less than a foot from the front door. A black dress shoe nudged him over onto his back, and even with his blurred vision he could make out the countenance of Harvey Dent/Two-Face staring back down at him. "We'll see," he murmured once more, fingering his silver coin before heading out the warehouse door to dispose of the men following his newest employee.

Famine:

3 - _archaic_**:** a ravenous appetite

_Merriam-Webster dictionary_


	2. War

_His speech is smooth as butter, yet __**war**__ is in his heart; his words are more soothing than oil, yet they are drawn swords._ _-Psalms: 55:21 NIV_

"Not to be territorial or anything, but we were totally here first," Brian said to John and Two-Face, subtly reminding them they were out outnumbered with a small nod towards the four man crew standing at his back.

If John was worried about their two to five odds, it didn't show. Instead he stared at the blond man, who was currently brandishing his gun at John's new boss, and rolled his eyes, "Are you actually calling dibs?! What are you four?"

"You know very well, that dibs is _dibs_, John." Brian turned and scowled at his childhood friend, not relishing the idea of shooting him, and quickly did a mental check on his level of loyalty to his current employer- yep, still nonexistent. "That's like trying to cheat someone out of calling shotgun."

"No," John corrected emphatically, ignoring the disbelieving looks coming from the other gangsters. "Calling shotgun is a sacred tradition that involves radio privileges. Dibs is like saying you get to eat the last taco even though we both know that _you_," he sent an accusing glare at Brian, "have already eaten more than your share. It's _subjective_."

"Since when has shotgun involved radio privileges," Brian demand with an offended glare. "You know perfectly well that the driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cake hole!"

John sputtered at this bit of insanity and waved his gun in the general direction of the men behind Brian, hoping he could still count on the unspoken loyalty of his best friend, "You know what, are you gonna talk shit or are you gonna start shooting?!"

"Fine," he huffed, fully aware that without his help the two of them were likely dead, "but if the new guy," Brian jerked his head at Two-Face, "accidentally shoots me in the back I'm gonna be pissed!"

With that last statement Brain whirled around, drew his second gun, and promptly switched sides, firing of several rounds at the very men who had only moments ago been his allies. Brian managed to kill one man before they recovered from the shock of betrayal, and started to return fire. Together the three of them retreated behind a large cargo bin, ducking behind it for cover.

"Boss, "John started, "this is Brian. Brian meet the boss."

Harv snarled at his henchmen, "are you kidding me with this shit. We're being shot at! I don't care who the fuck he is? Hell, _I'm_ half tempted to shoot him."

"Dude," Brian shot back from John's other side, "is he always this uptight?"

Only another round of fire from the opposition saved Brian from an early grave as Harv crouched back down. Brian, unaware of how close he'd been to impending doom continued. "You do now he's bat shit crazy right? I mean, seriously, I know you're obsessed with moving up the ranks but really - if I'd known you were that hard up I'd have put in a word for you with penguin."

"Oh 'cause the dude with the umbrella is such a fucking improvement." John shot back as he threw caution to the wind and leaned around the end of the cargo bin to shoot. He watched one of their opponents fall back and congratulated himself on a job well done as he once again ducked down.

"Look, man do you want a job or what?" John added with exasperation.

"We're outnumbered, inches from death, and even afterwards the boss man might decide to off us on a goddamn whim, and you're offering me a job?!

"Yes, I'm offering you a job - provided he," John thumbed in Harv's general direction, "doesn't shoot you once we're done here."

Brian smiled a wide, crazed grin that had Harv seriously questioning his sanity and then he exclaimed, "hell yes I want a job - I haven't had this much fun in months."

"That's because you're fucking crazy. Now are you ready to finish this shit or what," John yelled at his friend over the continued sound of gunfire.

Brian nodded, edging toward the opposite side of the cargo bin and when John was ready the two of the jumped out from behind there cover and proceeded to finish the other three men off with John Woo inspired grace.

**War:**

_2a **:** a state of hostility, conflict, or antagonism_

_(Merriam-Webster Dictionary)_


End file.
